Valkyrie
by Abandon Structure
Summary: Hector was supposed to die in that desert but an accident of fate brings him back, better and stronger than ever and nobody knows why, not even the girl who did it.
1. Chapter 1

Death…

How can one describe it?

Burning heat, bitter cold, and myriad of sensation, strong and powerful.

It was supposed to be peaceful, quiet, but he could noise everywhere, all around him.

Voices, echoes in a long dark hall that whispered and screamed.

_Hell_, he decided, floating in the emptiness. _I've died and gone to hell._

So where was the fire? Where were the demons, the devil?

What was going on?

* * *

><p>Death.<p>

She saw it on a daily basis, working in an Army hospital. She'd gone stateside, where death was passing, a few months ago, but it hadn't taken.

She craved the battle, needed the constant chaos.

It was a part of her that she had yet to make peace with.

How does one come to terms with the fact that you're a monster?

The young soldier in front of her was beautiful, soaked in blood, a dying angel.

She could see the last tethers of his soul, grasping at his body.

_Poor thing_, she found herself thinking as she solemnly accepted her newest charge from his grief stricken comrades.

He would be confused right about now. The whirlwind of death swirling about, a sensation unlike any other.

All souls eventually let go – some just took longer than others, put up more of a fight.

He was strong, this one – a real fighter.

A true warrior.

She could taste it in the tang of his blood.

He'd fought valiantly, bravely.

"Rest easy, brother," she murmured, reaching up with a feather light touch to brush her fingers across his face. "Your journey is finished."

She'd spoken the words countless times before, severed the ties for many strong souls, but this one…

He fought her – tooth and nail, he fought.

* * *

><p>There was a warmth – a sudden brush against what felt like his entire body – the first easily identifiable sensation since he'd arrived in this strange place.<p>

"Let go," the whisper was solid and real, right next to his ear and there was that warmth again, a solid breath against his neck.

It was a soothing sirens call, a warm lullaby that sought to give him rest, a peaceful ending to his noble sacrifice.

He'd always been a spiritual man – never for a second had he doubted that there was a higher power out there, watching them.

He believed in Jesus, he believed in God, and he believed in the Ever After.

But he wasn't ready to let go, not yet.

Charlie was out there. Charlie was hurt. He had to get back – had to fight to save his friend, his brother.

He had to fight.

And if there was one thing Hector Williams knew how to do it was fight.

* * *

><p>He tugged her forward with a metaphysical pull and she grunted as she struggled to disentangle her mind from his.<p>

The action only seemed to spurn him on as he dug deeper into her, thrusting his essence back towards her, back towards _life._

"Stop," she grunted out through gritted teeth, her hands tightening on the edge of the metal gurney, palms sliding down against the sharp metal, her blood spilling to mix with his.

She let go of the gurney, grabbing at his face in a desperate attempt to shake him.

The gesture was entirely human and entirely wrong.

She was the conductor, he was the electricity, and he used her like a lightning rod to focus in on his body.

That subtle tie she'd been trying to break became a thick cable of steel and she gave up on trying to break it, instead focusing on his new connection to her.

"You are not welcome here," she gritted out. "This is no longer your home."

* * *

><p>"Home." The word reverberated in the darkness, surrounding him and bringing back memories of people, of faces.<p>

_Jonas. Bob. Mac._

Family.

_Charlie._

Brother, best friend.

_Dying._

Charlie was dying.

The panic clawed at him and he dug deeper into the warmth, pulling himself closer even as it fought him.

He didn't care – barely recognized the struggle in the face of his determination.

_He had to get back to Charlie._

* * *

><p>"Charlie."<p>

The name echoed in a whisper and she jerked back instinctively, eyes wide with fright.

She'd never heard one of them call back. The dead did not speak, not like that. They communicated, but that…that was a statement. A desperate plea.

"Have to get back." Was the raspy whisper.

"No," she replied, stepping back as the body in front of her twitched.

"No," she repeated, reaching up and grabbing at her head as her skull pounded under the rush of him.

"_No!_"

It was agony, it was ecstasy – it was every sensation she'd ever had all rolled into one moment.

Spine-tingling, soul-shattering, a ragged cry tore through her throat, followed by another and another as she stumbled back against the wall.

"Stop," she pleaded, tears streaking down her face as her trembling knees gave out and sent her sliding gracelessly to the floor. "Please, just stop."

* * *

><p>"Stop." It was no longer a demand, but a plea, and he had a moment to wonder why the warmth was begging him, but Charlie's ashen face flashed back into his skull and he pushed that wonder aside as he pressed forward with renewed determination.<p>

Pressing forward was like pushing through every swamp, every mud-slicked path he'd ever attempted to pass. Thick and slow and an uphill struggle even on the way down.

And all the while, he felt the press of that warmth and the closer he got, the warmer it felt until it was almost a solid heat.

And that voice – that whispering, silky smooth voice – seemed to get louder.

"You're making a mistake, you can't come back here," it was telling him, moving from a whisper to a solid statement.

"Not a mistake," he grunted as he pressed himself into that heat, felt it sear against his skin.

He'd been burned before, but never like this, never this bad.

He gritted his teeth and closed his vision, pressing forward blind and keeping his silence until he got to be too much.

It was either go back or scream, and he wasn't going back.

* * *

><p>His scream reverberated through her skull, the dying cry of a wounded animal. It was awful, screeching like nails on a chalkboard, the worst sound she'd ever heard.<p>

And it was echoed by the cries from her own throat, muffled as she stuffed her hand in her own mouth, biting down on the blood soaked flesh as cry after cry emerged from her throat.

It was like being flayed alive – the skin was peeling from her face, from her very bones leaving her bleeding and raw.

Until he broke through.

* * *

><p>That heat gave way to cold, a soothing rush against fevered skin and suddenly that voice was there.<p>

Only it was whimpering, a broken cry, like a puppy that had been kicked around or a frightened child.

It hurt his ears to hear it, his heart to feel it.

And he felt it, as raw and real as his own pain.

And he felt pain.

_He felt._

* * *

><p>She could hear his groan, the sound like a shotgun blast in the otherwise quiet room, drawing her from her pain as she scrambled to her feet.<p>

Visual stimuli hit her first – the body on the gurney was moving, breathing with rapid, short breaths.

She could smell the tang of old blood, but new blood was mixing with it and it was with a rush that she realized in addition to breathing, the body was bleeding.

Badly.

"Oh god," she breathed, reaching for the sheet that had been placed over his still fatigue-clad form.

She mostly worked with the dead, but she knew how to care for the living. And she knew that she had to stop the bleeding.

"Doctor!" She yelled, pressing her bloody hands into the bloody gash on his neck. "I need a doctor in here!"

"What the hell - ?" the doctor in the doorway froze at the sight in front of him.

The soldier they'd just brought in – the one he'd declared legally dead not even fifteen minutes ago – was breathing.

Not only breathing, but struggling against the nurse who was holding him down.

"Please," the nurse begged him with her voice and with her eyes. "Help him."

"Jesus Christ," the doctor unfroze as training kicked in.

"Call for another nurse," he informed her tersely as he took over the application of pressure. "And get me some orderlies. He needs to get into an OR now!"

* * *

><p>Death.<p>

It was a daily part of their lives. They trained for it, prepared for it, delivered it on a near daily basis.

They were supposed to be tough, but being aware of the possibility of dying and experiencing an actual death…

How do you prepare somebody for that soul-numbing wiped-out feeling of absolute despair?

Charles Grey lay in his warm bed, hooked up to countless machines, drugged out of his mind, and clung to the fact that his brother was dead.

The drugs offered him a tempting retreat from the harsh reality, but he didn't dare close his eyes, cause every time he did, it was worse than a movie.

It replayed across his eyelids, again and again.

And then came the blame, the guilt.

_If only I hadn't gotten shot, if only he hadn't dragged me out._

If only, if only.

"Hey, Carlito," Mac was there, sitting next to him, the red-head quiet and covered in dirt. He'd cleaned up a bit, but there was a reason they called him Dirt Diver – no matter how hard you tried, he always managed to miss a few spots.

The freckles didn't help much, either.

"Hey," Charlie replied to Mac, not really focusing on anything.

Mac knew this was the moment you were supposed to grab someone's hand, squeeze, and tell them they were going to be okay, but God – how the hell was he supposed to do that?

Hector was his brother – they were all his brothers. And how the fuck did you pick your head up the day one of them dies and start looking to the future?

How the hell do you let go of those last moments?

Hector wasn't the first person he'd had die in front of him – he wasn't even the first member of one of Mac's units to go.

But he was closer than any of those other men and the guilt Mac felt and their deaths paled in comparison here.

So he said nothing to Carlito, simply pressed a hand into the other man's leg before leaning back in his seat and staring into the nothing.

* * *

><p>"…bp is rising, and god-fucking-damnit, the son-of-a-bitch is still breathing."<p>

The doctors were in awe, the orderlies amazed, and the nurses enraptured as they took in their own little miracle, rushing down the halls.

"What the – " The man's leader stood in the hallway, staring gobsmacked into the wide eyes of the man he just lost and getting sucker punched at the choking breaths that were emanating from that very man.

"Goddamnit," one of the doctors grunted as Hector gave a too strong shove with his limbs. "Hold fucking still, already. We're trying to help you!"

"Hector!" Jonas's solid, deep voice pierced through Hector's foggy thoughts, giving him focus as his gaze fixated on his commanding officer.

"Char-lie?" he got out around a mouthful of blood, the liquid practically drowning him.

"Charlie's fine," Jonas stated, reaching over to grab Hector's hand, as much of an assurance to the other man as it was to him. "He's stable and in good condition."

The relief that flooded Hector's eyes had Jonas blinking back tears even as the doctor maneuvered him away.

"We have to get him into the OR," the doctor apologized before pushing off once more, leaving quite a wake behind them.

"Are you okay?"

The question seemed strangely inappropriate despite the miraculous circumstances and Jonas was about to tell the woman off when, with a frown, he realized the pretty little blonde wasn't talking to him.

At first glance, the woman was barely noticeable. Thin, rangy almost, she had dark brown hair and pale, near translucent skin and a wide-shocky expression that made Jonas want to ask if she was alright.

"I don't know," the woman muttered, expression haunted as she reached up to run blood soaked hands through her hair, dropping her fists with a pained cry.

_The morgue attendant, _Jonas identified her. She'd never been introduced, just a silent waif who'd come forward to take Hector's body to the freezers.

She, out of everybody, would have the answer to this puzzling question at the most, and a clue at the very least.

"What happened?" He asked, inserting his solid form into the conversation, drawing a startled look from the blonde nurse as the brunette leaned heavily against the wall.

"Well, I don't know," the blonde replied, frowning up at him. "He was supposed to be dead."

Jonas spared her the briefest look of patronizing annoyance before refocusing on the brunette who looked just about ready to pass out.

"Here," he placed a hand on her arm, releasing her immediately as she jerked away with a startled cry, wide-hazel eyes fixating on him.

"Don't," she breathed, nearly hyperventilating. "Don't, just don't touch me. Okay? Don't."

"Okay," Jonas held his hands in front of him to appease her, reaching over with one hand to grab one of the chairs lining the hallway and pulling it closer. "I just wanted to see if you wanted to sit down. You look like you're going to pass out."

Her low, almost desperate chuckle surprised him and confused him at the same time.

"Ma'am?" he questioned, brow furrowed slightly.

"Nothing, never mind," she shook her head, hands reaching for her hair and stopping before she made contact and it was with another frown that he realized not all of the blood decorating her form was Hectors.

"You're bleeding."

"She is?" The blonde nurse let out a startled gasp as she took in the deep gashes along the other woman's palms. "Oh good lord, what happened?"

"Slipped," the other woman replied, her eyes darting to the side with the lie before rising to focus on the blonde, her lips quirking slightly. "Got startled."

"Oh, you poor dear." The blonde clucked sympathetically. "Let me just go grab some gauze and a needle and we'll fix you right up. You want to wait in the examine room?"

"I'm fine," the woman smiled thinly, expression making it clear she didn't believe her own lie.

"If you're sure then," the blonde gave her a doubt-filled look before scurrying away, leaving the two of them alone.

"What happened in there?" Jonas asked.

"He came back to life," her voice was dull, dead, her eyes glassy and unfocused.

"How?"

That was the important question in Jonas's mind – how had Hector Williams cheated death?

"How?" the brunette stared at him with an expression of lost confusion.

"How does anybody cheat death? Does anybody ever really know?"

* * *

><p>Hector Williams, pronounced dead at 1543, was pronounced alive and stable by 0300.<p>

By 0500, he was the resident prodigy – a miracle if there ever was one.

Breaking the news to Carlito had been almost a dream come true – they delivered bad news all day long and now they finally got to say something good.

Charlie hadn't believed them, though, until he'd been wheeled into the recovery room to meet the sleepy, hazy drugged look of his brother.

"Hey man," Charlie breathed out, reaching over and holding onto Hectors hand, probably squeezing tighter than he should, but not able or willing to release the other man. "You look like shit."

"Look who's talking," was the whispery reply and Charlie knew he was crying, but Goddamnit, who the fuck cared?

Hector was here, Hector was breathing.

His brother had come back to life and Charlie didn't care how or why, only that he was.

"You scared the shit out of me, man."

Hector smiled in reply, his eyelids fluttering as sleep reached up and pulled him down.

And Charlie let his head rest against Hector's leg, Hector's grip on his hand still tight, and cried.

* * *

><p>Louise, the blonde nurse who'd stitched up her hands, had an annoying habit of hovering and it had taken her a good fifteen minutes before she'd wandered away, leaving the brunette alone in the hall.<p>

The commanding officer had left, shooting one last suspicious glance her way, to inform the rest of the men of the apparent resurrection and she was unbelievably relieved by his absence.

She could feel the dead man – Hector – in her head now.

She knew he was unconscious, quiet and still, and she could feel, on and off, the presence of another, which sent her jittery nerves into another tailspin.

Dialing with two heavily bandaged hands was a pain-filled process, but it needed to be done.

The phone rang once, twice, before the line clicked and a single breath echoed down the speaker.

"It's me," she murmured, leaning back against the wall and tilting her head up in an effort to stave off the river of tears threatening to fall. "I think I screwed up. I need someone to come and get me."

**A/N:** Repost of an old story. I'm just kind of posting anything that looks good right now.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two months later…_

"How you feeling, Hammerhead?" Jonas's voice was a siren song in his ear.

"Great, sir. Never been better." And he hadn't.

He felt focused, centered, more connected to the world than he'd ever been before.

The Doc's called it a miracle, his therapist called it gratitude. He called it something else. It didn't have a name yet, but it had a voice. A smooth, silky drawl that always sounded so sad.

He wasn't cleared for active duty yet, but with the permission of his many doctors, therapists, and base CO, Colonel Ryan, he'd been allowed to participate in several training missions.

"Red's, coming up on your six, Bettie Blue," he murmured down the line, eyes focused through his snipers scope.

"You're two miles away, Hammerhead," came Charlie's disbelieving call. "How the hell can you see that far?"

"Good eyesight," came the response. "Move fifty feet to your left and hold."

Charlie didn't question his judgment, following his instructions perfectly and crouching low. "Holding."

Hector was quiet, focused as he tracked the movements of the 'unfriendlies' pacing them as they drew closer and closer to Charlie's position before, without hesitation, they brushed on by.

"Bettie Blue, you are clear to proceed."

"Roger that, Hammerhead. Oscar Miking it."

"Roger."

He tracked the unfriendlies carefully through his peripheral, his muscles tightening as they turned and circled back the way they came.

"Reds, Bettie Blue, coming up fast."

"Give me cover, Hammerhead."

Charlie had walked into the open, with no visible cover, which had probably been their plan all along. Draw him out, and circle back.

_Smart,_ Hector noted, scanning the ridges for a safe haven.

_But he was better._

"Twelve feet to your right. There's a small ditch. Think you can fit?"

"Gonna have to," Charlie slung his rifle over his shoulder as he skidded to a halt at the trench, swearing as he took in its dimensions.

Hector hadn't been kidding when he said small. But how in the hell Hector had been able to see this – two miles away and through a scope – was beyond Charlie.

It was one of the many eerie things that had come back with Hector from the dead.

Hector didn't like to talk about it – hell, Charlie didn't even like to _think _about it – but it was out there for all of them to see.

Something had happened to Hector in those thirty minutes of death, something big and profound and scary enough to make the black man pale.

He was stronger than ever, faster than ever. He could hold his breath longer, see a little farther, and hear even better than before.

He felt stupid for even considering it, but he'd been watching some of those movie previews lately, the ones about vampires, and he'd gotten spooked enough one night to buy a pizza and watched Hector eat it, piece by piece, just to assure himself he wasn't going to wake up with his jugular missing cause his best friend turned vampire had gotten a case of the munchies in the middle of the night.

There was no logical explanation for what had happened to Hector and the whole of the Unit was at the precipice, the point of ponderence when they paused to consider whether or not the answers were worth seeking.

In Hector's mind, in the corner where that voice was a near constant whisper, there was no pause or hesitation. He didn't have anything to think about.

He had to know what had happened to him, had to find some answers because otherwise…

As strong and as fast as he was now, there was no way he could wrestle with that voice, no way he could outrun it …

It was a part of him now, for better or worse.

And he definitely didn't want things to get worse.

* * *

><p>He was quiet, which was a great relief to her.<p>

"How you doing, sugar?" The heavily lined face of the Matron hovered over her and she gave the woman a tight smile.

"Fine," she replied, sitting upright and stretching, letting out a relieved sigh when her back cracked.

"You need to talk to the boy," the woman stated. "The two of you can't keep dancing around each other like this."

"We're doing fine, Grandma," she bit out, mildly irritated at the pestering.

"You only think you are," was the other woman's cryptic reply.

She didn't question the older woman. For one, it was unthinkable to question the Matron's wisdom. For another…

She was so goddamned tired. She'd done nothing but rest for these past few weeks and it was wearing thin.

Her nerves were a mess, her calm – the center of balance that kept her sane – was stirring, like the ripples in a pond before the quiet that brought the storm.

She didn't like it and she wanted it to be gone.

Unfortunately, the Matron had offered her random bits of advice and cryptic warnings, but no solid recipe for undoing what had been done.

"Sol," a bear of a man spoke from the doorway, his voice gruff as his gaze jumped from the Matron to the other woman and back again.

"Chai," Soldis greeted, expression softening slightly at the sight of her husband, Achaius. There was something in her face that had the other woman shifting uncomfortably, drawing both of their gazes back towards her.

"Thora is here. She wishes to speak with you." Chai sounded less than pleased with his message and Sol's lips tilted up at the corners at his pout.

It was an odd thing to see a six foot eight wild-haired red head with liberal streaks of grey and an expression that could scare off a grizzly pout.

"Thank you, Chai," the Matron stated, letting her breath out in a small sigh. "Tell her I'll be with her shortly."

"As you wish," he tilted his head forward respectfully, flashing her a small grin from under his beard before leaving.

The other woman got up to leave as well.

"Where do you think you're going?" The Matron's tone was disapproving as was her expression, but she was just too tired to give a crap.

"Work," she replied, shrugging into her jacket and reaching for her messenger bag. "I've taken too much time off these last couple of weeks. I have to go back today or I risk losing my job."

"Your job." There was a flat inflection to the words that made the Matron's opinion of her line of work abundantly clear.

"Yes, by which I make my livelihood."

"You don't have to work," the Matron reminded her, tone laced with disapproval and worry.

"I want to work," she replied, expression softening slightly. "It helps me."

"You don't need help," the Matron replied stiffly. "You're fine the way you are."

Her smile grew tight and brittle as she adjusted the strap of the bag on her shoulders.

"I'll see you soon," she promised, leaning forward to brush a kiss across the older woman's cheek.

"Daughter," the Matron's tone had her pausing, hand on the door, to turn and glance behind her.

"Tread carefully," was the warning. "You do not know what you have done."

"No," she agreed after a pause, expression contemplative and no small amount confused and hurt as she gazed at the other woman. "But you do. Why won't you tell me?"

"It is not my place to tell," came the response. "And it is not your place to know. Not yet."

"When it's time for me to know, then, come and find me," she couldn't quite mask her anger so she kept her eyes away from the Matron as she spoke.

The Matron said nothing and she took that as her cue to leave, exiting the warehouse with a chill in her soul not even the warmth of the afternoon sun could erase.

* * *

><p>Given the givens – namely their line of work – accidents were bound to happen.<p>

Given the givens, Hector figured it was fitting that, this time, it wasn't him on the receiving end.

"Who puts a rusty nail in the middle of an empty field?" Charlie questioned nobody in particular as he stared glumly down at his bleeding foot.

"Rednecks," came Mack's drawling reply as he flipped through a magazine. Charlie had stepped on the nail, Hector had recovered the nail, and Mack was here to fill out a report about the nail.

_The Army at it's finest,_ Hector thought with no small amount of bemusement as he watched the pretty little _belleza_ tend to Charlie's wound.

She was tiny, a red-head, with wide blue eyes and dimples and so totally his brother's type, Hector could almost predict, down to the second, what was going to happen the second Charlie snapped out of his nail-induced haze and clued in on her longer-than-necessary touches and looks.

It was amusing to watch as Charlie turned on the charm. By thirty seconds she was laughing softly, by ninety she was running a hand down his arm, and by the time she was finished with his foot, she had given him her home number, cell number, and, given half the chance, she would have donated her panties to Charlie's growing collection as well.

"Every fucking time," Mack murmured, voice laced with equal parts amusement and disgust as he flipped another page in his magazine.

"What can I say?" Charlie held up his hands with a wide grin of masculine pride. "The ladies love me."

Even Hector had to snort at that, his gaze connecting with his brother's, lips quirking in an upward smile, before drifting over the rest of the room.

* * *

><p>The hospital was busier than usual so she got conscripted into the cause, working with live bodies instead of dead ones.<p>

It was a pleasant change, to be honest. Given what had happened the last time she'd touched a dead person, it was almost relieving to hear the annoying chatter of a private, first class, who'd stuck her finger too close to some part of a running jeep engine and received a nice deep cut for the transgression.

"Purple," the private was saying with a decisive nod as she frowned at her. "I'm going to paint it purple."

"Excellent," she murmured, careful to keep sarcasm out of her tone and failing spectacularly. "That will go great with the beige carpeting."

"You think?" The Private – whose name she'd never bothered to check – had one of those personalities that was undoubtedly hyper annoying when the individual was healthy. And since she was doped up on pain killers, the annoyance level had nearly skyrocketed, leaving her even more frustrated than she had already been.

"You're being mean," the Private pouted and she gritted her teeth, yanking on the needle hard enough to draw a startled yelp from the other woman and draw the attention of several of her colleagues.

"Here," one of the doctors offered, frazzled as he pushed the curtains back and shoved a file towards her. "Take this one. All the dirty works been done, they just need to fill out the forms."

"This isn't my job," she replied, blinking once.

"It is today. Curtain E," came the jittery reply even as he smoothly inserted himself into her seat, grabbing the needle and picking up where she'd left off.

Taking this as the hint that it was, she opened the file and scanned the paperwork as she walked towards her destination.

_Grey, Charles. Incident Resulting in Injury Report_…

It made for rather dry reading. Basically the guy had stepped on a nail in the middle of an empty field.

"Who puts a rusty nail in the middle of an empty field?"

* * *

><p>It was a tingling feeling that traveled up and down his spine and had him shifting even straighter as his gaze restlessly traveled the room.<p>

Charlie's nurse had returned with some mild prescription painkillers and Charlie had immediately started to flirt outrageously while Mack rolled his eyes in the background and waited for whoever had the incident reports to arrive so they could escape this hell.

Maybe he was just reacting to being in a hospital again. It'd only been a couple of weeks, after all, since he'd been released after his near-death experience. Psychological trauma should have left him with a healthy dislike of this place.

But he'd felt nothing but a twinge when he'd helped Charlie through the door – even now the hustle and the bustle were barely bothering him.

No, it was something else. Something deeper, more…primal.

An atavistic awareness that had him restless and agitated as his gaze swept the left side of the room once more.

She approached from the right, frazzled and out of focus. That feeling in the back of her head in that place where _he _resided had jumped so suddenly she felt almost disoriented by its affects.

There was something with him, something odd and off and confusing.

The feeling reminded her of what she'd always imagined a caged tiger felt like when it was being watched in the zoo.

Stalked, a feeling unnatural to a predator.

_He _was feeling stalked which made her feel the same in turn.

Her gaze shifted nervously to the side as she reached the curtain, doing a quick scan of her surroundings before reaching up to pull the cloth back.

An electric chill traveled down his spine and the hair on the back of his neck was rising, causing his fingers to twitch. If he still had his weapon, it would be out and pointed at this point.

"Hector?" Mack's question had him shifting, turning towards the other man, face calm but eyes stormier than the seas.

"You need some air, man?"

Normally Hector would say no. He never needed air – he was the rock, the anchor. Solid and unbending, always feeling the right inside his gut and drawing strength from it.

But today…

"I'll be outside," he accepted Mack's out with a nod, heading towards the exit without bothering to glance behind. If he had, he would have caught sight of the worried expression Charlie was sending his way.

If he had, he would have caught sight of the woman who had changed his entire world.

But he didn't.

* * *

><p>She was brusque with the injured soldier, but he didn't seem to notice and neither did his squadmate, the both of them sending continuous glances towards the door, expressions worried.<p>

"Do you need anything else?" The one in charge, Master Sergeant Gerhardt, asked, frown heavy as he spared her the briefest looks before focusing on the door.

"No, Sir," she replied, accepting the pen and the signed paperwork back from him before nodding to the hovering orderly. "Corporal Hanson will take it from here. You have a nice day now."

"You, too," came the distracted reply, the two groups – her and them – separating to their own corners.

* * *

><p>"Finished already?" Hector hadn't gone far, just a few paces from the door and easily spotted as Charlie and Mack exited.<p>

"We had an expedient paper pusher," was Mack's honest and yet still sarcastic reply.

"An oxymoron if I ever heard one," Hector's lips twitched and Charlie smiled, relieved to see the other man relaxing again.

"You okay, man?" Both Charlie and Mack stared at him with that look they had when confronted with a situation they weren't entirely sure what to do with and had yet to devise a battle strategy to handle.

"Fine," Hector replied with a quick smile. "Never been better. Just needed some air."

"You sure?" Mack was asking for more than one reason – if Hector was feeling the mental pressure and wasn't up to handling it he had no business trying to get back into the game.

"I'm fine," Hector reassured, feeling a brief flash of irritation that had him blinking in surprise.

He never got irritated. He'd never had problems with people – even the stupid ones. And Mack was far from stupid, so why did Hector suddenly want to snap at him?

He was frowning over that when Charlie started to hobble forward and nearly took a header into the asphalt.

"Jesus," Mack growled, exasperated as he righted the other man. "We just got out of the hospital. Quit trying to make a return trip."

"Ah come on, Sarge," Hector's lips quirked upward in a smile he didn't feel but forced himself to show anyways. "Charlie's just trying to get back to his beautiful nurse friend, Sheila, was it?"

"Estella," Charlie corrected, good-humor picking up at the teasing.

"Estella," Mack's eyebrows arched as he helped Charlie stabilize before starting forward once more. "I don't know, man, she looked like she could eat you alive."

"Come on, Mack," Hector grinned at the married man. "That's part of her charm."

Mack was shaking his head even as Charlie chortled at the entendre.

"Just you wait," Mack promised. "One of these days the two of you are gonna meet a woman who knocks you down a peg or two and then we'll see who's laughing."

_Prophecy_, a voice whispered in the back of his mind, but he shrugged it away as he smiled as Charlie joked.

He had other things he wanted to focus on right now.

* * *

><p>She jerked at the spine-tingling feeling of something big coming into big. It was just the seed, the beginning, but the pins-and-needles feeling covered over half her body already.<p>

"Not good," she murmured, peering worriedly towards the door, rubbing her arms as the feeling gradually started to fade.

_Not good at all._

A/N: I'm not sure where I'm going with this yet, but I can give you some basic facts.

Fact 1: There's a reason the girl hasn't been given a name yet.

Fact 2: When the guys figure out who she is, the readers will be introduced to her.

Fact 3: While the military will play a key role, the Supernatural is even bigger.

Fact 4: She isn't human.


	3. Chapter 3

"_Am I dreaming?"_

_The question echoed in the marble halls, the white of the room nearly blinding as he turned, trying and failing to locate a point of reference. _

_It was an optical illusion, that much he knew. It wasn't possible for a place to really be this big – his mind was just trying to process the complete lack of reference points._

"_In a way."_

_The reply startled him and he turned towards the voice, fists raised, only to draw up short._

"_Ma'am?" He greeted and questioned in the same breath, cocking his head to the side as he stared at the small, compact elderly woman in front of him._

_She was wearing a dress with a leather corset type vest over the top. Her hair was braided in an intricate mess and she had coronet of silver resting on top of her head._

_As odd as she looked, however, she practically breathed power – he could feel it in his bones._

"_Son," her lips quirked with the words and he found himself blinking at the show of amusement._

"_Come," she ordered without pause, turning and walking in one direction leaving him with either the choice of following and gaining some understanding or staying and remaining lost._

_Obediently he followed._

* * *

><p>She did her eighty-eighth push-up, her eyes unfocused as sweat ran rivets down her trembling arms, her body coiled tight with tension despite the grueling workout she'd forced herself through.<p>

She couldn't sleep. She'd spent the last three hours trying but every time she closed her eyes the silence seemed to close in on her, trapping her.

She tried for her eighty-ninth and just managed to catch herself before she could land face-first on the mat.

The gym was empty for the night – everyone else was either asleep or out doing better things, which was exactly why she'd chose to be here at this hour.

"This isn't going to help you."

She sighed, closing her eyes for a brief second before rolling over onto her side to face Chai.

"Will anything?"

Chai cocked his head slightly to the side, his lips twitching upwards under the bush of his beard.

"You know the answer to that."

"Do I?" she pressed, sitting upright in a smooth motion as she let her gaze focus on the wall opposite her. "Do I really know anything?"

"You know enough," Chai replied. "The rest is out there, waiting for the two of you to discover it."

"He has nothing to do with this," she shot back, jerking her head around, eyes flashing and teeth bared in an angry snarl.

"He has everything to do with this," Chai shot back, his expression a warning unto itself. Throughout the empty years spent away from this place she had forgotten that once and forevermore Chai had been a power unto himself.

The fact that he had married the Matron only added to it.

"I apologize," she shook her head slightly, closing her eyes and breathing as she struggled to regain control of herself.

"As well you should," was his surly reply as he glared at her.

"Don't be stupid, child. If you wait too long…"

"What?" She twisted slightly to face him in the doorway, not rising to her feet but staring at him, a mixture of defiance, fear, and resignation in her gaze.

"Bad things," was Chai's reply after a few moment of long silence before turning and disappearing as quietly as he'd arrived.

"It's always bad things," she murmured, her gaze returning to the wall. "Why is it always bad things?"

* * *

><p>"<em>What is this place?" he found himself asking as he followed the woman through one of the long hallways.<em>

"_Home," was her bittersweet reply._

"_Home?" He couldn't keep the questioning note from his voice._

"_Not yours," she replied, turning and offering him a quirked smile that hardened slightly with her next words. "Not yet."_

_He didn't know what to make of that, so he lapsed back into the silence._

_It may have lasted minutes, it may have been hours, but eventually the silence was broken by a new sound._

Thump.

_It was so loud and sudden he turned instinctively, his brain already trying to process the source of the noise._

Thump.

"_What is that?" he asked as a third beat followed the first two, thumping a steady rhythm that was almost familiar._

"_What is what?" the woman asked, turning towards him._

_He wanted to ask if she was serious – the sound was so loud it was almost deafening, and yet the woman seemed entirely unfazed. Alert and intensely focused on his answer, but not even her ears twitched as the steady beat continued to thrum around them._

"_That beating noise – the thump."_

"_A thump?" Her eyebrows arched slightly as she blinked at him, an expression of pure surprise dashing across her face in an instant before her expression smoothed into an almost amused look._

"_A heartbeat," she murmured and he found himself nodding._

"_Exactly." That was exactly what it sounded like…except…_

"_No – " he shook his head as he frowned and listened closer._

Thump.

_There – _

Bump.

_At first sound it seemed to be a simple echo, but the more he listened, the harder he focused…_

"_Two."_

"_Two?" Her expression smoothed over at that. "Two heartbeats?"_

"_Yes." He nodded his head, satisfied with that being the answer, before turning his attention to her, eyes bright with curiosity and a sudden burning need to know._

"_What does it mean?"_

* * *

><p>It started like a drumbeat in her head – an intense pulsing rhythm that morphed from a simple noise to a full body vibration that left her wide awake and staring up at the ceiling as it seemed to twist in on itself.<p>

It was a rhythm in counterpoint – two beats nearly as one. It was the echo that really drove her nuts because it didn't seem to make sense. She was a nurse, she knew what the human heart sounded like, and this…this was no a single human heart.

It was two.

And she knew with a bone deep certainty that neither one of those heartbeats was her own.

* * *

><p>"<em>It means things are more serious than I perceived," the woman replied with a frown as she stared off into space for a long moment before refocusing in on him.<em>

"_Don't worry, my son," she told him with a soft sort of smile that immediately made him feel better despite her words. It was his experience, as a soldier, that when somebody told you not to worry, it was a catchphrase for exercising extreme caution._

"_All will be revealed in time," she promised, but her words seemed to be growing fainter – the white of the room was fading and it was with unusual clarity that he realized he must be waking up._

"_What?" he asked, the question an almost desperate plea as he struggled to hold this place long enough to get an answer. "What happened to me? What am I now?"_

"_All will be revealed," was the echoing answer that was both terrifying and comforting. He tried with one last desperate lunge to stay in this place, but it was like trying to grab water – the walls slipped through his fingers and with one last faded thump he –_

* * *

><p>-woke up.<p>

"Hey man, you okay?" Charlie was standing in his doorway, eating an apple and watching him with worried eyes.

"Fine," he replied, sitting upright and shaking his head slightly before refocusing on his roommate and partner with a frown. "Why?"

"You were muttering in your sleep," Charlie replied, taking another bite of his apple. "Kept saying 'what' 'what'."

"What?" Hector ran a hand over his hair, blinking at his partner in puzzled confusion. "I was talking?"

"Yeah, man," Charlie finished the last bite of his apple carefully, turning to exit and calling over his shoulder, "not a good habit to have."

"Yeah," Hector agreed. Professionally, he was worried. Personally…

Personally, he was starting to get annoyed.

Just what the hell was going on?

* * *

><p>She went to work with a serious case of dry mouth and a full on body throb that made her extra irritable and hard enough to deal with that the doctor didn't even bother trying to find something in house for her to do.<p>

"Go poke people," he instructed, sending her down to the training grounds to supervise advanced combat medicine techniques.

Rodriguez, one of the local corpsman, wasn't exactly thrilled to see her.

"You have no field training whatsoever," he lectured as he grabbed supplies and shoved them in her arms. "And on top of that you're a girl."

She didn't say anything in reply, merely rolling her eyes, causing him to pause as he stared at her in disgust.

"And a civilian on top of that. What the hell was Parker thinking, saddling me with you?"

"God, you bitch more than my sister," was her quick reply. "We gonna do this shit or do I have to wait for you to remove the tampon somebody shoved up your ass?"

Rodriguez stared some more.

* * *

><p>"Dude, I'm serious," Rodriguez was saying as Hector followed him down to the field where they were supposed to be training the newbies. "She's fucking insane."<p>

"Come on, Rod, she can't be that bad."

"Oh no, you remember Jazz? That cop down in DC?" Oh yes – Hector remembered Jazz. He remembered her very, very, very well.

"Well Jazz ain't got nothin' on this chick." Hector found that hard to believe. Jazz was a no nonsense straight-blunt don't-fuck-with-me kind of girl. Hector had watched her level no less than three full grown men in five seconds with her words alone. He had a hard time imagining anybody breaking that record.

"Dude, three guys quit after three seconds. And then I lost two more when she opened her mouth."

Hector's eyebrows skyrocketed as they reached the field.

"Where is she, man? This I gotta see."

"Over there," Rodriguez stated, pointing towards one of the side tents. "And have fun. She's your problem now – I'm taking my lunch and I ain't coming back. You deal with her."

Hector watched Rod leave with a shake of his head before turning his attention back to the ball buster, his heart giving an erratic beat in his chest as he started forward.

* * *

><p>She pressed a hand against her chest as her heart thumped in her chest, her breathing shallow as she skin flushed and that damn noise filled her skull once more.<p>

"Shut up," she muttered, pressing her water bottle against her chest and fighting back a grown when her heart refused to listen.

Over the pounding her heartbeat she heard footsteps approaching and she turned towards them, eager for a distraction only to stop completely short as the man came to a stop in front of her.

"Hello," he greeted with a polite nod of his head and an outstretched hand. "I'm Sergeant First Class Hector Williams."

"Kate," she greeted, completely dumbstruck as she reached out and touched his hand. She had a moment to marvel at the warmth of his skin right before everything went dark. The last thing she saw before consciousness completely escaped her was Hector's surprised eyes, staring from the ground right next to her.


End file.
